war has brought certain changes. The search-lights have
disappeared. It was found that to the enemy in the air they were less of
a menace than a guide. So the great shafts of light that with majesty
used to sweep the skies or cut a path into the clouds have disappeared.
And nearly all other lights have disappeared. Those who drive motor-cars
claim the pedestrians are careless; the pedestrians protest that the
drivers of motor-cars are reckless. In any case, to cross a street at
night is an adventure.

[Illustration: _From a photograph by Underwood and Underwood._

President Poincare on a visit to the front.]

Something else that has disappeared is the British soldier. A year ago
he swarmed, now he is almost entirely absent. Outside of the hospital
corps, a British officer in Paris is an object of interest. In their
place are many Belgians, almost too many Belgians. Their new khaki
uniforms are unsoiled. Unlike the French soldiers you see, few are
wounded. The answer probably is that as they cannot return to their own
country, they must make their home in that of their ally. And the front
they defend so valiantly is not so extended that there is room for all.
Meanwhile, as they wait for their turn in the trenches, they fill the
boulevards and cafes.

This is not true of the French officers. The few you see are
convalescents, or on leave. It is not as it was last October, when Paris
was part of the war zone. Up to a few days ago, until after seven in
the evening, when the work of the day was supposed to be finished, an
officer was not permitted to sit idle in a cafe. And now when you see
one you may be sure he is recovering from a wound, or is on the General
Staff, and for a few hours has been released from duty.

[Illustration: Reproduction of placard warning France against spies.]

It is very different from a year ago when every officer was fresh from
the trenches--and, fresh is not quite the word, either--and he would
talk freely to an eager, sympathetic group of the battle of the night
before. Now the wall of silence stretches around Paris. By posters it is
even enforced upon you. Before the late minister of war gave up his
portfolio, by placards he warned all when in public places to be careful
of what they said. "Taisez-vous! Mefiez-vous. Les oreilles ennemies vous
ecoutent." "Be silent. Be distrustful. The ears of the enemies are
listening." This warning against spies was placed in tramways,
railroad-train